


you make a fool of death

by gendernoncompliant



Category: Haven (TV)
Genre: Angst-lite, Canon Compliant, M/M, Missing Scene, Pre-threegulls, Repressed Feelings, canon character death, disaster bisexuals, implied alcoholism, mentioned Duke/Audrey and Audrey/Nathan, pre-polyamory, pregulls if you will, sad with a side of hopeful, softly painful, spoilers through s03e08
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-05
Updated: 2019-11-05
Packaged: 2021-01-23 09:16:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21317782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gendernoncompliant/pseuds/gendernoncompliant
Summary: Once upon a time, they didn’t have to get drunk to talk like this. Didn’t have to cheat death just to bury the hatchet for fifteen minutes. They used to be friends, back before the troubles. Once upon a time, he’d take Nathan to bars like this to “cruise for girls” and they’d wind up wasted, making out in the backseat of his car. But that was a lifetime ago. Nathan hasn’t looked at him like that in years.
Relationships: Duke Crocker/Nathan Wuornos, Jordan McKee/Nathan Wuornos
Comments: 19
Kudos: 41





	you make a fool of death

**Author's Note:**

> Honestly, after the absolute agonizing chaos of 307 and 308, I just needed Duke to have his own moment with Nathan.
> 
> *Title from "Hunger" by Florence + the Machine

It’s not as though Duke is the only person in this two-horse town who’s head over heels for Nathan Wuornos.

It’s been a part of his reality for so long, he almost forgets, sometimes, that that’s what it is. And, to be fair, there have been whole years of his life where—if you asked him what he liked about Nathan—he’d have said, _not a damn thing_. Even in the best of times, Nathan is bullheaded, unfriendly, and holds onto a grudge like his life depends on it.

Nathan Wuornos is the most infuriating person Duke has ever met, and for some god-awful, inexplicable reason, the sun still rises and sets with him. Has since they were kids.

Duke made a lot of excuses, over the years, as to why he never said anything. Wrong time, wrong place. Nathan was (probably) straight. Nathan was (probably) not interested. Nathan was (definitely) furious with him.

The longer it went on, the easier it was not to mention it. It built up inertia. Put down roots. Unstoppable force, immovable object.

Every one of those excuses crumbled to dust when he saw Nathan’s body lying in the grass. All he could think, caught in the voiceless deadlock of grief, was that Nathan would never know what all those years meant to him. What Nathan meant to him.

Fear isn’t the right word to describe what Duke went through. Anguish isn’t either. More like dread—empty and bottomless. For a few, unbearable hours, he had to confront the reality of a world without Nathan in it, and it wasn’t terrible or heartbreaking or frightening. It just—_wasn't_. Wasn’t anything. Wasn’t possible, wasn’t acceptable.

He pushed it down—buried it—because it was so oppressively heavy that he couldn’t function around it, and he _had _to function around it. Fighting was their only hope.

And after everything, he still found himself on the sidelines—watching from the corner of the room while Audrey and Jordan got their tearful reunions and he just stared, feeling further away than ever.

If Duke had any sense, he’d have given up on loving Nathan a long time ago.

When it’s over and they’re all safe and sound, back at The Gull, he and Audrey finally have a moment to talk for the first time since Colorado.

They don’t actually resolve anything. They sweep the elephant under the rug.

He can’t shake the image of Audrey curled over Nathan’s body, whispering frantic _I love you_s. He can’t hold it against her, either. He’s the last person with any room to talk when it comes to being in love with Nathan fucking Wuornos. Really, if he’s honest, he’s not even sure which one of them he’s jealous of.

He can’t shake the feeling that he’s being left behind. Pushed out of the picture. Audrey loves Nathan and Jordan loves Nathan and Duke is—a friend, on good days. A weapon, on bad ones.

There’s no room at the table for him.

Duke takes over for Alice at the bar when it starts getting late. He sends the kitchen staff home. It’s a party, and he’ll keep the drinks flowing a few extra hours in Nathan’s honor, but he isn’t going to make his staff work an all-nighter over a “Taco Tuesday.”

He downs a few shots, telling himself he’s earned them after the day he’s had—never mind the handful of beers he’s put back, already. Never mind the fact that he’d probably still be drinking like this even if Nathan were never in danger. So, maybe there are a lot of elephants in the room and maybe he’s gotten good at ignoring all of them. So what?

He’s warm from the whiskey when he plunks a beer down in front of Nathan.

“Another cold one for the man of the hour?”

Nathan’s drunk. Or close to it. He levels Duke with an expression that’s too fond and unfocused. He picks up the glass and lets out one of those rare, uncomplicated laughs that Duke hasn’t heard from him in years. Wagging a finger at him, Nathan crinkles up his nose and says, “It’s weird, seeing you on that side of the bar.”

Duke grins, leaning his elbows on the counter and sliding Nathan a coaster. “And yet, somehow,” he purrs, giving Nathan a teasing look, “you _still _don’t have to pay for your drinks.”

Nathan laughs again—big and bright. It’s a world apart from a few hours ago: the awful stillness of his body laid out on a stranger’s floor while they fought for a miracle they damn near didn’t get.

“Hey,” he chuckles, nudging Duke’s arm, “Go easy on a dead man.”

The joke doesn’t land. Duke feels his shoulders go stiff and there’s no levity in his voice when he corrects, “Not dead.”

Duke regrets sending the conversation this direction, immediately. He recognizes that it wasn’t as _real _for Nathan—that he took two bullets he couldn’t feel, got lightheaded, and woke up in someone’s living room. But while he was napping, Duke and Audrey were ready to burn down heaven and hell to get him back.

Nathan is nursing his beer, looking at the bartop instead of at Duke, so Duke finally cuts the tension with a gentle, “How do you feel?” His eyes drop to the center of Nathan’s chest where, not too long ago, his shirt bloomed with blood.

“I don’t,” Nathan jokes, and Duke cracks a smile of his own.

“Fair enough.” He pours himself another couple fingers of whiskey, but—to his credit—he drinks it slower than last time. “What about the rest of you? You—good? I mean, we pulled you from the jaws of death, man. That doesn’t—fuck with your head at all?”

Nathan’s got that lopsided, tipsy grin on his face again. It colors his voice when he teases, “What, you scared I’m gonna go all _Pet Sematary_ on you?”

Duke huffs a laugh through his nose. “Yeah. Something like that.”

Nathan flexes his fingers, eyes tracking a motion he can’t feel. He shakes his head. “Feel like me. Just like yesterday. Day before.”

“Mmm,” Duke hums, raising his eyebrows. “That’s exactly what possessed zombie Nathan would say, too.”

Once upon a time, they didn’t have to get drunk to talk like this. Didn’t have to cheat death just to bury the hatchet for fifteen minutes. They used to be friends, back before the troubles. Once upon a time, he’d take Nathan to bars like this to “cruise for girls” and they’d wind up wasted, making out in the backseat of his car. But that was a lifetime ago. Nathan hasn’t looked at him like that in years.

Maybe they’re still friends, but it’s an awfully fragile thing, these days.

“You scared the shit out of me, you know.”

Duke doesn’t mean to say it. He can blame the whiskey or the fear, but at the end of the day it’s really just Nathan—the way Nathan drags his heart out of his chest just by looking at him.

Nathan makes a face and sighs, staring down as his half-finished beer. “I should have been more careful.”

Duke shakes his head. “You shouldn’t have been _alone_.”

The bar has started to empty out. Audrey, Jordan, and Claire are outside on the deck, talking, and a handful of boozy patrons are still milling around, but even the most dedicated drinkers have slowed down for the night. Duke knows he should announce last call and start putting chairs on tables, but Nathan goes and lays his hand over Duke’s wrist in a gesture that’s uncharacteristically fond and all at once, Duke’s rooted to the spot.

Never was good at saying no to Nathan.

“Doesn’t matter,” Nathan insists. “Tommy’s dead. You and Audrey saved me. It’s over.”

Duke shakes his head, staring down at where Nathan still hasn’t let go of him. “You have no idea how close it got.”

“Didn’t know you cared,” Nathan teases, beaming up at him. It’s been a long time since Duke’s seen that look on his face.

“Yeah, you did,” he murmurs, just buzzed enough to be daring when he flips his hand over to grip Nathan’s fingers. Nathan’s gaze drops to look, but he doesn’t pull away.

He’ll regret this, tomorrow. Hell, he’ll regret it in an hour. But right now, Nathan’s holding his hand and the hopeless, lovestruck teenager in him is seeing stars.

Duke isn’t exactly sober, but these days he has a hard time getting drunk. Or he has a hard time _feeling _drunk. But his near-sobriety is exactly the reason he knows he isn’t the one who leans across the counter and bumps into a chaste kiss. It’s a quick, clumsy thing—over before Duke even has a chance to do anything about it.

He stares wide-eyed at Nathan, but Nathan’s turned away, eyes fixed anywhere else. The flush in his cheeks probably has less to do with embarrassment and more to do with the booze, and Duke feels a pang of something sad and hollow when he untangles their fingers.

“You’re drunk,” he says gently, patting Nathan’s hand when he sets it on the bartop.

“M’not _that _drunk.”

For a moment, utter adoration outweighs the sorrow and Duke beams at him. “Sure, buddy. I’m not gonna argue with you.” He nods toward the door. “But your girlfriend is right outside, and I don’t think she’d exactly be thrilled about this.”

Nathan rolls his eyes and sighs, tapping his fingernails against the side of his glass. “I’m just drunk,” he grumbles.

Duke laughs in spite of himself. “Oh, so _now _you’re drunk.”

Nathan’s brows come together in his signature frown and he stares down at his beer, so he doesn’t have to look at Duke. “I almost _died_,” he mutters, sounding defeated, “Pretty sure I get a pass.”

Duke watches Nathan drain what’s left of his drink with a patiently amused expression. It’s almost easy to forget how much this hurts. It almost doesn’t hurt at all, if he doesn’t look directly at it. “Yeah,” he drawls, “and _you _can have that conversation with her, ‘cause I’m getting the hell out of dodge before she human-tasers me to death.”

He claps Nathan on the shoulder hard enough to jostle him before swiping his empty glass and setting it in the bin with the other dirty dishes. “I think I’m officially cutting you off, champ. We both know I’m only your type when you’re hammered.”

He says it as a joke, but Nathan’s reply comes off unfittingly serious when he says, “Wasn’t drunk.”

“This again, huh?”

Nathan shakes his head, shoulders hunched in a way that makes him look small. “When we were younger. Never drank that much at the bars. Not really.”

By the time Duke is able to process exactly what that _means_, Nathan is already out of his seat, making for the front door.

“Hey!” Duke barks without thinking, but when Nathan turns around to face him, any thought of what he was going to say disappears from his head. He stares helplessly for a few seconds before finally settling on, “I’m glad you’re back.”

There are a hundred other things left unsaid between them, but for tonight, Duke’s letting them lie.

Still, a kernel of hope flares bright in his chest when Nathan shoots him a lopsided smile and says, “Yeah. Thanks for that.”

He disappears out the door, joining the others on the deck and leaving Duke with his thoughts. But, for once, it doesn’t feel like being left behind. It feels like he’s been let in after months of pressing his face to the glass.

He can work with that.


End file.
